


How (not) to bring back your dead boyfriend

by Lauren_is_a_moron



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: ;), Betty brings him back, Bughead fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Jughead dies, Mentions of Death, Mute Archie, Supernatural Elements, Toni Topaz is five years old, also kinda angsty idk, but there's a twist, so the only choni will be cute fluff until she's turned back lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22802317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron
Summary: Betty Cooper's family have been brewing moonshine for generations. It's said that with one sip, any wish may be granted. Regardless of the wish. But Betty doesn't believe in that superstitious bullshit.After all, it didn't bring her boyfriend Jughead Jones back, who was murdered a year ago, and the killer is yet to be found. She figures the Shine will give Cheryl Blossom's party a kick to get it started, anyway. But what Betty doesn't know is that the moonshine is real and grants every wish at the party, including her own to bring Jughead back. Which sets off a chain of events that makes her night a little bit more interesting. But of course with everything else, there's an expiration date on the moonshine. And Betty and Archie race against the clock to make sure Betty's wish stays permanent.
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge, Archie Andrews & Jughead Jones, Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Cheryl Blossom/Toni Topaz
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	How (not) to bring back your dead boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> this was fun to write. 
> 
> A party that lasts forever? PLEASE.
> 
> edit: this fic is p topical bc of the show lmao, but this was started around Summer 2019, so it's not related to what's going on right now <3

* * *

_The cords of rope wrapped around his wrists were tight, cutting off his blood stream. His fingers felt numb, tingling whenever he shuffled in the rickety seat he had been forced into. Try as he might, Jughead couldn’t seem to get free, and it was a fact and a thought that had panic welling inside of him. It was hot inside of the abandoned shack – because that was the only word to describe it. It wasn’t overly large; there were no glass panes to cover the windows, which meant wherever he was, it was out in the middle of nowhere. It was a sickening thought to know that no-one would hear him when he screamed. Swallowing down the bile that was forcing its way up his throat, Jughead focussed on the person that was currently tearing through his backpack. They weren’t making a lot of noise, but every single time a notebook or a textbook landed carelessly onto the floor, Jughead found himself flinching. A curse ripped through the otherwise silence that surrounded him, and Jughead found his eyes widening, shock engulfing him. He opened and closed his mouth, fighting a battle inside of him. He wanted to break the silence, but he was also terrified to. Finally, he found his voice and asked softly, “Why are you doing this?”_

_“Where is it, Jughead?” the voice demanded, and Jughead was once again stunned into silence. The person’s voice was forceful and demanding, tinged with a trace of dread and apprehension, and – and … “Where are the files? The papers? Where are they at?”_

_"It’s clearly not in my bag,” Jughead said, licking his dry lips before shifting in his seat once more. His wrists were already rubbed raw from the struggle he gave when he was dragged into the shack and then pushed roughly into the chair. That fight had earned him ropes that were pinning his wrists to the arms of the chair probably a bit more tightly than what they should, which also meant he could barely move. It was something he was trying hard not to focus on, but it was also something he was finding more and more difficult to do. “I have to pay for that stuff if it’s ruined. You know that.”_

_What Jughead wasn’t expecting was to have the distance closed between them as suddenly as it was. What little bravado he had been able to gain was stripped away in a matter of seconds. Jughead made himself as small as he possibly could when the camera, which had been hanging around his neck, was ripped away from him. The act was so sudden and so violent that he actually yelped when the strap was torn, and Jughead flinched all the more when the camera was sent crashing to the floor. He stared wide-eyed at the broken pieces, feeling his heart sputter at the unknown when dark eyes met his, gaze unreadable._

_“This isn’t a game, Jughead. It’s certainly not one I’m playing.”_

* * *

Prologue.

Since Jughead's disappearance, and then brutal murder, Betty had only been grateful for one thing. She hadn't been the one to find him. Which was selfish, she knew that. It was Archie Andrews who found him. Which was just as bad. In a battle of fate, it was either one of them who would find their other half. Betty was Jughead's girlfriend, and had thankfully not been the one to discover the boy. Which she considered a blessing, considering the state he was in. If she had, she would have been tempted to follow in her boyfriend's footsteps. Even if it hadn't exactly been his choice when he'd been cruelly pulled from life at seventeen. Instead, it was the raven head's best friend, which, if anything, made it worse. Archie and Jughead had been inseparable since kindergarten and did everything together, along with Betty. The Three Musketeers, they called themselves. They rolled down hills in the Summer and swam in the swimming hole before stretching out on the grassy banks, cloud watching. They talked about their future, about college and falling in love. At eight years old, they had been so hopeful. Archie had wanted to be an astronaut and Betty entertained the idea of being a real fairy Princess.

It was Jughead who had real prospects at that age. He wanted to be a writer. And Betty already knew, even at a young age, that Jughead would achieve his dream. But then they grew up, and childhood wishes died out, making way for more realistic dreams. Archie started guitar lessons, and Betty began ballet. Jughead began crafting stories in his notepad in his spare time, and shared them sometimes. His stories were like nothing Betty had ever heard before. With practise, she'd told him, he could write a book one day.

Soon enough they were growing up, but never apart, and Betty had fallen in love with her best friend's at eight years old. How could she not? Jughead's shining green eyes and chocolate curls that fell in his eyes had captivated her from the second they'd met on the first day of Kindergarten, and had been inseparable ever since. He told her stories from the deepest crevices of his imagination, the two of them lying over each other, her small fingers entwined with his. She loved it when he smiled, his whole face igniting with glee when he saw food. The Jones boy wasn't much, from an outsider's point of view. But eight year old Betty Cooper saw him as something much more. Perhaps she had always been in love with Jughead. Even before she knew what the concept was.

Betty loved Archie in a different way. He was much more of a soulmate, a playful ball of red curls and freckles who was reckless and enjoyed throwing himself into dangerous situations. Jughead and Archie were polar opposites to her, Elizabeth Cooper with sunshine coloured hair pulled into pigtails and frilly dresses who had a pastel pink bedroom, enjoyed teddy bear tea party's and had a huge collection of beanie babies she wasn't ashamed of. Archie and Jughead were boisterous. They trashed her room when they stayed over, and complained when she insisted they play 'girly' games with her, but there was something about them that kept her stuck to them like glue.

Even when they grew up, it was still them; the three Musketeers. Archie Andrews, Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones. But of course, they didn't last. Because at the end of Junior year, Jughead had been taken from them. He hadn't moved away with his father, or gotten an illness. As much as Betty and Archie had wished for it to happen, their friend wasn't coming back. Because just after his seventeenth birthday, Jughead was murdered. It was hard to believe that someone would take the grinning curly haired boy away from her, but they had. And when Jughead had been torn from her life, Betty had shattered.

It was raining when they found him, and Betty would always remember it. Because the rain used to hold sweet memories of her childhood, of Jughead and Archie. Elizabeth Cooper had never really been scared of the rain. As a girl, she had embraced the wet days. Her sister Polly would stare mournfully from the window, but she would have on her yellow rubber boots and rain slicker and out she'd go; splashing, jumping, drinking the drops in her open mouth. Betty wouldn't stop until she was covered in dirt, until her rubber boots were filled with filthy rain water, and every step was a wet sounding squelch. Betty still recalled a time when rain hadn't meant death, and pain, and suffering; her own crying, sobbing and screeching, the overwhelming smell of her mom's lavender perfume choking her nose and throat as she buried her head in Alice Cooper's chest and screamed until her throat was raw, until her lungs were choked of breath.

_No- don't think about that._

_Think about the good._

_Always the good._

It had been the last night of Summer before fifth grade. Betty had rushed in from the rain with Archie and Jughead. They had been eight years old, and just finished running around Archie's garden like maniacs, giggling and screaming as rain cascaded down. They twirled, danced, fell over and jumped back up, even more hyperactive than before. Archie was clumsy, and fell over a lot, dragging Jughead down with him. They played games under the tumultuous sky, unfazed by thunder booming in the distance. When lightning did strike, it made them squeal with excitement, the three of them watching the sky light up electric blue. It was a beautiful memory, one Betty liked to wallow in when more painful thoughts began to spike her mind. So instead she pushed them down for the moment, and embraced the good. Because thinking about the bad caused her to spiral.

Jughead and Archie had embraced her childhood love of the rain, and joined in her games, and for that Betty was thankful. The three of them had sneaked in from a storm, her leading, holding hands with Jughead, while Archie brought up the rear. Their goal was to reach her bedroom and peel off their soaking wet coats and boots, and get as dry as possible in the twenty minutes it would take for Archie's dad and Betty's mom to get back from the store. Betty had already known she was in trouble. The three of them looked like drowned rats. Archie's red hair had been soaking, his fringe hanging in wide brown eyes, while Betty's golden curls stuck to her pink cheeks. Though neither of them were wetter than Jughead, who was dripping. His black hair was a sopping mess of soaking curls in his face. They had only made it halfway through the kitchen, trying to suppress their giggles, before a loud cough. The three of them had spun around, to find their parents standing there looking horrified; Fred Andrews and Alice Cooper looked like they were about to faint. "Elizabeth!" Alice had shrieked. "What did I say about the rain?"

In Betty's past, the rain had only meant good things.

When Betty was fourteen, she'd sneaked a bottle of her mother's wine and she and Archie had finished it off in the redhead's garden. They'd sprawled on already damp grass and stared at the stars, giggling drunkenly, talking about everything from middle school, to the new girl Veronica Lodge, who had pricked Archie's interest. When Jughead had spotted them on his way to the store, he'd joined them. And to the three's shock, the heavens had poured down on them, and bore them no mercy. A lot of things happened that night. Archie had revealed his plan to get Veronica Lodge's attention, while Betty, after fighting her feelings for her beanie clad best friend for what felt like forever, had finally blurted that she wanted to kiss him. Jughead had nearly fallen back with shock.

It was supposed to be a moment brought on purely by their foggy minds, influenced by far too much alcohol consumption. But one kiss in the rain had turned into a date at Pops, stealing kisses in their favourite booth while Archie threw fries at them, and before Betty knew it, she was tangled in her childhood best friend's bed sheets with the boy pressed against her. And it had felt good. Right. Jughead Jones had been the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she thanked the rain for that. Even if it was crazy to believe in fate, that she had only spontaneously confessed her feelings because the skies had opened. Fast forward two years, they were still together, and Betty was so hopelessly in love with the boy. She'd never even thought about losing him. They had their whole lives ahead of them. They would graduate and move to New York with Archie, and live out their happily ever after. Because everyone deserved that, right? Their own version of happily ever after. The fairy tale's she'd grown up watching had promised her.

At least...that's what Betty had thought.

Every time Betty recalled the good memories, the bad always came back to haunt her, seeping back into her, poisoning her thoughts, chilling her to the core. In the blink of an eye Archie was no longer eight years old and grinning, dimples sticking from freckled cheeks and red hair plastered to his head as he frantically stripped off his soaking wet rain coat, eager to look as dry as possible. Instead, he was older. It was the night Jughead had been found after weeks of searching. His brown eyes were wide with terror, a mixture of tears and rain dribbling down ashen cheeks. If Betty had given into her instincts and met Archie that night, she would have found him too, would have witnessed the gruesome discovery for herself. If she'd gotten in her car and drove to the edge of Sweetwater river, where Archie had found an old battered BMW half submerged in the water, she would have seen the redhead standing in the shallows, trembling in the bitter cold as wind lashed his cheeks, blowing his hair every which way. Archie had tore the town apart, determined to find Jughead alive and well. His disappearance was quiet at first. Jughead hadn't returned from school, and FP had come to the conclusion that he was staying at the Cooper's. But then Betty had said she hadn't seen him since lunch at school. That was when the worrying began, and the sheriff was informed. Jughead's phone was found in his room, and his bag and camera were gone. His truck was still gathering dust in the trailer park. "He's gone to see his mom and Jellybean." Archie had insisted, but Gladys Jones hadn't seen her son since Christmas. It was then when people began to panic.

Days and weeks had gone by, and still no sign of the boy. A curfew had been put in place, and Jughead was front page news. Betty had dedicated every second to her day to finding her boyfriend, and Archie had began searching woodland and the edges of Greendale, hopeful he wouldn't find anything, because he couldn't, right? Jughead loved crime drama's and murder documentaries. He couldn't be starring in one.

With his phone to his ear, Archie had waded into the water, smashing through the windows with a lead pipe, cutting his palms on shattered glass, trying to force his way in, before he'd spotted it sitting under the front seat; a bright red gym bag. In any other circumstance it would seem normal. Someone leaving their bag under the front seat, or maybe storing it so it didn't get lost. But the bag had been lodged under the seat, while the vehicle was half submerged in the town's lake. For a fleeting moment, Archie didn't want to look. He wanted to turn around and dive back onto the grassy bank, forgetting he'd ever made the discovery. It was the same place they'd played as kids, talked about their hopes and dreams, pretended to be pirates. Archie Andrews and Jughead Jones against the world. If he listened carefully, he could still hear his own childish laughter.

But part of him knew this was his best friend's final destination. This was his final resting place, and Jughead wasn't coming back.

Archie Andrews had finally found Jughead Jones, and it had been quite the scene ripped out of the very murder documentaries the three of them watched together, curled up on the Andrews sofa. The crime scene had been as follows; Blood. A lot of it. It decorated the car and diffused the water. A bag, holding Jughead Jones' jacket and his camera, where the lens had been smashed to smithereens. And finally the most chilling piece of evidence; It was what Archie would never speak of. But it wouldn't take long for the town to get hold of what the gruesome contents of the bag were. Weeks later the headline of The Riverdale Gazette screamed; "REMAINS FOUND OF LOCAL MISSING TEEN".

Archie hadn't just found his best friend, and his belongings, he had found Jughead's most prize possession; the little book the boy had been carrying around since they were kids. In it were sketches, short stories and ideas for stories, characters, plots, his own little world trapped between pages that were now tainted with his blood. In the after, when they'd buried Jughead, Archie had kept his notebook under his pillow and would often flip through it when he was at his lowest, re-read Jughead's unpublished story ideas. It was like having a small piece of his best friend with him at all times.

In the before, Archie had known the second he'd reached for the bag with shaking hands, seen the smears of crimson decorating the zip. It looked like hands coated with blood, like caramel on an apple had sealed the harrowing contents. But he still pulled it out, and yanked on the zip, revealing something so terrible, which would staple his lips shut for the coming months, trapping him in his own personal nightmare. He dropped the bag with a cry, collapsing to his knees. If Jughead had been there, he probably would have laughed at his friend's theatrics. "Are you really going to cry over me?" he imagined Jughead standing in front of him, amused eyes shining in the din. "C'mon, Arch. You're better than this." when he didn't answer, Jughead sighed. His bitter breath was the wind still stinging Archie's cheeks, sending prickles zipping up and down his spine.

"At least you found me, right?" Jughead's voice was teasing, a gentle prod in the redhead's mind. But it did nothing to calm Archie down. He only let out a sharp cry which may have been a sob, but it splintered partway between, the breath leaving his lungs.

Archie had stayed there for a long time, still sitting in murky lake water, staring at the gym bag with wide, unseeing eyes. He hadn't opened his mouth, but tears were rolling down his cheeks. If he'd have cracked, Archie would have hit something. He'd grab the lead pipe and smash the car until it was unrecognisable. But he couldn't move. His expression never changed, even when the cops arrived, picking up the bag, as well as Archie, who made a soft mewling noise when the bag was pulled from where it was nestled in his lap. Somewhere along the way of blending into oblivion, and the darkness that followed it, he'd ended up cradling the bag to his chest. Kevin Keller had been there to herd the redhead into the back of his father's car, and knowing the gruesome contents of the bag, he'd been ready for the boy to explode, to start freaking out and screaming.

But Archie stayed silent. If his eyes had been closed, you might have thought he was dead. His chest barely rose, and he was paralysed, staring into empty space. At the station, Betty tried to get him to speak, begged him, screamed at him to tell her what he, and then the sheriff had found. But he'd stayed mute and perfectly still. When she'd clapped her hands in front of his eyes, he hadn't blinked or shook his head, or even began to cry. Even when Fred Andrews had arrived, he hadn't moved from the bench, his mocha eyes glazed over as he stared at something behind Betty. Perhaps he was reminiscing the times when he was happy. Or maybe he was replaying what he saw over and over again, and couldn't get it out of his head no matter how hard he tried. Betty should have known then, if what Archie Andrews had seen had incapacitated him, sending him into a catatonic state, then she should have guessed it the second he stepped foot in the station, sopping wet, wrapped in a fluffy towel with Kevin's arm slung around him, keeping him on his feet. She should have known, but denial was a strange thing. It played with your mind when you're at your most vulnerable. So when she saw Archie soaking wet, his vacuous expression devoid of life. Betty automatically thought; "He's fallen in the river."

When she should have been thinking; "He's found him."

"Archie." Fred had tried to hug his son, tried to comfort the boy. But the redhead was catatonic. Which panicked Betty even more. When his father had rushed off to call an ambulance, she'd taken her chance. Because he'd never told her what he'd found. The second the boy had spotted the gym bag, he'd dropped his phone, and their call had ended. Though maybe that had been for the best. "Archie, please!" she'd grabbed onto him, shaking him, trying to snap him out of it. But the boy stared straight through her.

And that's when Betty knew. She knew even before she'd been sidled into the sheriff's office, along with her mother. She'd been told to sit down, and a glass of milk had been placed in front of her, like she was a child. Betty had ignored it, suddenly wanting to pick it up and throw it against the wall. Her head was pounding with pressure, and she knew what Sheriff Keller was going to say. It was written all over his pale face, his grey eyes crinkled with sympathy, lips trembling with words he didn't know what to utter.

"Betty." Tom Keller swallowed hard, managing to maintain his gaze on her. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but we've found..." he trailed off. "We believe we've found him."

And Betty's heart had jumped. The words had been at the back of her throat, and she wasn't sure if she was going to cry or laugh; "Really? Can I see him? Is he okay?"

She hadn't realised she'd spoken out loud, until the sheriff shook his head, clasping his hands in front of him. "No sweetie, I'm afraid that's not possible."

And then her ears were roaring. Her heart stuttered, and she was sure it had stopped. But in reality it was ready to burst out of her chest. For a single moment, Betty couldn't breathe. Her lungs were crushed, the sensation of drowning, suffocating, washing over her. But there was no water to fill her lungs, to suck away her oxygen. It was a horrible feeling, drowning. There's nothing but panic when you're under the water, knowing there is no way out, no escape, no one to rescue you from what'll become your coffin. And it only gets worse, the urge to inhale growing stronger and stronger, your lungs burning to do the one thing you're meant to, and that's to keep your body alive.

But Betty wasn't drowning. She was sitting in Sheriff Keller's office. Her skin was sticky with sweat, her clammy fingers clamped around the glass of milk. She'd managed a few sips, but the milk was already climbing its way back up her throat in a bitter bile. Tom Keller's voice was echoing in her mind, but she couldn't register it. She wouldn't. Somewhere at the back of her mind, where part of her was still conscious, she listened to the man's shaky explanation, while lingering pieces of her blanked the horrific parts, what she didn't want to know; "There wasn't much left...he was....blood...he appeared to have been...though we won't know for sure until we've performed an autopsy."

Autopsy. The word sounded foreign in her mind. She almost laughed. Almost.

And then he was speaking again. But Betty didn't pay attention really, only staring hard at the glass of milk, trying to individually count each bubble building on the surface. Trauma works in weird and wonderful ways. Instead of screaming and crying, trying to protest the truth, Betty stayed perfectly calm, while her brain struggled to register the same word, over and over again; Murder. Jughead, her boyfriend, had been murdered.

"Betty, Jughead is dead." Tom murmured, and then the sheriff was clearing his throat, steeling himself. "I'm so sorry for your loss. If there's anything I can do..."

"No." she heard herself say. Her voice was so soft. "No, I'm okay." Betty didn't remember standing up. She didn't remember leaving the office and walking outside, directly into the downpour. She didn't remember finding Archie standing in it too, staring into a starless sky. Betty had wrapped her arms around the boy, and held his rigid body. After a painstaking moment, his arms had jerked suddenly, as if he was coming back to life, before pulling her into an embrace that felt wrong without their third musketeer. Neither of them had cried, and they'd stayed like that for a long time, waiting for the rain to stop. But it didn't. It continued to lash down on them, and in a moment of delirium, she had wondered if Jughead was with them, his ghost bleeding from the rain. She'd snapped her head up, blinking rapidly, searching for him. But there was only darkness, and Archie's face inches from her own. Betty wanted to cry out into the storm for him, because surely he lingered. She wanted to believe that he was still there, still next to her. It was hard to believe, to even think about such a thing, but her mind was a tornado of thoughts. Was it really crazy to believe that he had stayed with her after all?

Betty pulled out of the hug eventually, tipping her head back, blinking back tears, or maybe it was rain. She wished on a starless night, that he would come back to her- back to them. And Betty knew from the look on Archie's face, that he wished the same.

"Betty!" Alice Cooper rushed out, holding an umbrella, along with Fred Andrews, armed with a huge towel, throwing it over the two of them. "Sweetie, get out of the rain!"

Betty might as well as have been drowning because her mother's voice was a million miles away while she sunk to the bottom of the ocean, tethered to heavy weights pulling her down. FP Jones appeared, frenzied, demanding to see his son. He was trembling, tears streaking down his cheeks, and Betty was falling, plummeting, down, down, down. But Betty didn't claw for oxygen or try and fight the darkness clouding her mind. Because Jughead wasn't here. He never would be here. Her best friend, her boyfriend, had been cruelly taken from her before she had a chance to live a proper life with him. She would never travel the world with him, grow old by his side. Jughead Jones was dead. Gone. So Betty welcomed the dark, and let it drag her and Archie, this time without their best friend-

Down.

Down.

Down.

* * *

Chapter 1 -

A year had passed, and Jughead's killer still hadn't been found. Though there had been no more disappearances. That's what Betty couldn't understand. Why had this monster come out of the shadows and killed her boyfriend so cruelly, so brutally, shoving him in a gym bag and stuffing him in the back of a car, and then crept back into the dark? Why hadn't other kids been taken? It was a hysterical thought, but Betty couldn't help it. It didn't make sense! Why was it just Jughead? The cops had come to the same conclusion as Betty, after weeks, and then months of nothing. They weren't looking for a sadistic killer who wanted to be known. No. They were looking for someone who covered their tracks well. There had been no fingerprints at the scene, except from the victim's. After an autopsy, lacerations had been found on the boy's wrist, showing signs of restraints.

Jughead had been restrained before his death. Betty had learned, after the report was released. He hadn't just been brutally murdered, he'd been kidnapped beforehand. When she thought back to the last time she saw him, at lunch at school. He'd been excited about a new David Lynch movie coming out. There had been no hints that her boyfriend had been in trouble, or that he had demons. He had been his usual sweet self, his arm slung around her as he chomped on his third burger, playfully kicking Archie under the table.

But someone had taken him. That's what haunted Betty at night, stopped her from sleeping when intoxicating herself on cheap wine and anti depressants didn't work. They failed to numb her both mentally and physically, the thoughts plaguing her. What would she do if she had the ability to go back? Would she save him? Yes. Of course she would. Betty went over the investigation in her head. She knew it off by heart, had every shred of the investigation memorised. Jughead was kidnapped and taken to an unknown location before being killed, and- disposed of in the bag, before he was dumped in the BMW.

How could someone do that to him? Trash him...like he was nothing to them, nothing to anyone. But Jughead was everything to Betty, to Archie, his father.

The investigation started to die down after months of quiet. But Betty never stopped looking, searching for more clues, driving herself crazy in the process. Eventually, with barely evidence except from the victim's belongings, the case crumbled, much to the town's protest, and in a small press conference in the town hall, Tom Keller explained, with red rimmed eyes that Jughead's murder was "a terrible time" for Riverdale. But they had no leads, no witnesses or suspects. Everyone in town had been questioned and pilfered through, and there was nothing. After putting up with screaming parents, and kids demanding justice for their fallen classmate, Keller had officially closed the case.

They had gotten away with it. Betty had screamed her protest, but Sheriff Keller was stern. With no damning evidence he couldn't reopen the case.

"Betty, are you sure this is a good idea?"

Kevin Keller's voice was a wary murmur echoing off the walls of the Cooper garage. The boy was pacing up and town, his hands shoved in his pockets while Betty knelt in front of a mahogany door with practised ease. Almost there. She jimmied the lock with a hair pin, a second clutched between her lips. She was in her best party wear; a white dress which flowed to her ankles, and strappy sandles. With her blonde hair cascading down her back, she almost resembled an Egyptian princess. Betty let out a breath and shifted on her knees, swiping perspiration from her forehead. "If you're so bothered that we're going to get caught, go and be a lookout." she muttered to Kevin, who let out a strangled laugh.

"Are you kidding? Betty, if your mom realises you've taken her secret stash of- what is it again?"

"Moonshine." Betty muttered, getting progressively more irritated with Kevin's theatrics. Though the boy was right. Alice Cooper would kill her if she found out Betty had taken away what was considered a family secret. Moonshine had been brewed in the Cooper family for generations, after it had been passed down from the Spellman's in the late 1600's. It was a secret recipe, and all Betty knew was that it was alcohol, and there was a positive guarantee that it would fuck you up. And that's what she needed. She needed to get drunk, because her senior year was around the corner, and without...without him, she wouldn't be able to deal. So Betty was allowing herself one night to completely lose herself.

To forget.

Just one goddamn night.

Now she wasn't particularly superstitious, but the Moonshine, according to her mother and sister, had the ability to grant any wish, after taking a sip. When Jughead had died, that's all she did. Betty drank countless jars of the stuff, wishing and wishing and wishing on apple and grape cider mixed with god knows what to make it sparkle, that Jughead would come back to her. But obviously he never did. The Moonshine wasn't some magical wish granting concoction, it was just alcohol her mother kept in fancy looking jars with silk red ribbon wrapped around the glass. But tonight, that's what she needed. Betty needed to be numb, to not think, or worry, or submit to the pain that was always there in the forefront of her mind, trying to drag her down into a bottomless pit.

"Close your eyes and take a sip." was the tagline, what Alice Cooper always said to clients who happily wasted their money on the stuff. Thousands of dollars on a jar of lies. "Close your eyes and all your wildest dreams will come true."

Bullshit. The proof was in the hundreds of people harassing her through phone, email and even letter for a refund. "This is fake!" they all complained, and Betty had struggled to keep a straight face when reading the hate mail. No fucking shit, Sherlock. She'd laughed harshly at the gullible idiots. Even after she'd spent countless hours sitting in her room with a jar to her chest, her eyes closed, lips stinging, head spinning from the amount she'd forced down her throat. Her wish had always been the same, and like her mother's clients, for a short amount of time, Betty had believed her wish would come true. It fucking hurt when it didn't. So she drank more. Rinse and repeat.

"Right. Moonshine." Kevin said, snapping her out of it. Betty shook straying strands of golden hair out of her face and tried the hair clip, sticking it in the lock and biting her lip. Kevin leaned against the wall with his arms folded, his eyebrows furrowed. "Why do you want to bring your mom's secret stash of Moonshine to Cheryl's party anyway?"

With a satisfying click, the door swung open, and Betty let herself smile in the din of the room. She didn't answer Kevin, instead jumping up and striding inside. The room was mostly empty, apart from Betty and her sister's bikes from when they were younger, an old lawn mower which had been partially taken apart, and multiple boxes full of Moonshine. For a moment, she was enraptured by the dull glowing blue light emitting from each jar, washing her and Kevin in rapturous light. When she was a kid, her mother told her the glow was magic, but now she'd grown up, Betty was pretty sure it was some artificial shit her mother used to fool people who actually believed in a wish granting jar of sparkling cider. But Betty was willing to suspend her disbelief for one night of magic.

Swallowing, she began to fill her backpack up with jars of the stuff, until she could barely lift it. Kevin had his usual look of disappointment, but she ignored him, rolling her eyes. "Kev, it's just a few jars," she said, hoisting the bag onto her shoulders. It was damn heavy, and she stumbled a little, managing to catch her balance. "My mom won't even notice, and even if she does, she won't care. She'll be happy I'm actually going out of the house."

That was true. Since losing her boyfriend, Betty had spent most of the year inside, dwelling on the past. Cheryl's party was the first time she'd willingly been outside in a long time. Kevin still looked unconvinced, but he didn't argue. Even if he did, she wouldn't listen. Since Jughead's death, Betty had turned impulsive. Any spontaneous ideas she got, ended up becoming reality. Crashing Cheryl Blossom's party with Moonshine was one of those ideas. "It'll be fine." she said, smiling brightly as the two of them began the ten minute trek to the Blossom mansion. It was a sunny evening, and Betty revelled in the feeling of the scorching heat on her cheeks. It felt good. She hadn't felt good in a while, or appreciated the sunshine. Kevin walked beside her, frowning at cracks in the concrete. "Betty, I'm not entirely sure Cheryl actually invited us to the party."

In the Before, when Jughead was still alive, the boy's words would have stung, and probably sent her stomach galloping into her throat. But now, Betty was desensitised to that kind of thing. She didn't care about not being invited, or the Senior class thinking she'd lost her mind after her boyfriend had been brutally murdered. Instead she smiled at the boy, shrugging. That's all she did nowadays. Smiled and nodded. It was her way of putting up a facade that everything was okay, that her meds were working, when in actual fact she had stopped taking them a while ago. She'd rather numb herself, than let the meds turn her thoughts slushy, and slowly but surely wipe Jughead away for good.

"I know." she said softly, swinging the pack between her fingers.

Kevin didn't reply after that, and Betty was thankful for his reluctance to question her further. When they arrived on Cheryl Blossom's doorstep, Betty arms were aching from carrying the pack. She clutched it against her chest, breathing hard. Cheryl Blossom's house looked straight out of a cliche teen movie, towering over the two of them. It was Victorian, redbrick topped with copper domes and spires that had long ago turned green. There must have been at least a hundred windows on five floors facing the drive. It was a house that just didn't know where to stop, a fancy looking fountain sitting at the very front. There was already a senior boy passed out in it, still holding a bottle of beer.

Music thrummed through every open window, and Betty could hear a cacophony of excited yells and laughter from inside. She knocked twice on the mahogany door and took a step back, dragging Kevin with her. After a moment the door swung open, and there was the girl herself. Cheryl Blossom, almost matching her house. There was a reason why she was the queen of Riverdale High. The girl was teen royalty; tall and pale, bearing her signature colour red; crimson hair spilling down a matching dress. Cheryl blinked at Betty for a moment, before her lips stretched into perhaps the fakest smile she had ever seen. She hadn't exactly been helpful when Jughead had died, and had loudly announced it in the cafeteria at school. The girl had climbed on a table and stamped her heel in pure Cheryl Blossom fashion. "The hobo is dead, everyone! Moping around won't get you anywhere, and do you think Jughead wants you all to cry over him? Hell no! Get over it, people!"

Funnily enough, Cheryl was right. Jughead wouldn't have wanted his classmates to be sobbing over him, acting like they were best friends, when in reality, most of them ignored him when he was alive. But Cheryl could have been more sensitive.

"Betty Cooper!" her lip curled slightly, cocking her head. "Are you going to flood my floor with your tears, or are you good?"

Betty smiled back. "I'm good." she said, before pulling out a jar of Moonshine and shoving it towards her, Cheryl taking it uncertainly. Before the girl could speak, Betty unscrewed the lid. "Close your eyes and make a wish." she said, mimicking her mom's voice, half expecting the girl to laugh and politely decline. But Cheryl shrugged and peered at the sparkling beverage. "You need to say it out loud." Betty added, as an afterthought when Cheryl's green eyes studied her. "For the wish to work, I mean."

"A wish, huh?" the girl giggled, before tapping her chin. "I wish this party would never end," Cheryl grinned with a rather shark-like smile, before tipping the jar back and taking a long swallow. A moment later she was bent over, gasping, pulling a face like she'd just sucked on a lemon. Betty knew the sensation well. It was like a fire raging in the back of the throat, sending all your nerve endings alight. But it was the perfect buzz. Her mouth watered at just the thought of taking a long gulp from one of the jars.

Cheryl wiped her mouth. "What the hell is this stuff?" she demanded, but she was grinning, her cheeks blazing. Before Betty could answer, the girl was grabbing the stash and hurrying back into the house. Betty followed, letting herself in, with Kevin nervously sidling behind her. Inside Cheryl's house, everything was ancient, made of thick wood and expensive garment. Betty noticed anything perishable, like lamps or vases had been removed from shelves, just in case the party got a little too rowdy. Someone had set up spotlights that blinded her when she stumbled into the room, vivid purple and orange lights moving with the curve of the crowd. There were speakers set up everywhere blasting chart tunes. Jughead would have hated it, she thought, with a smile.

It didn't take long for the Moonshine to get passed around, along with the instructions on how to get your desired wish. Cheryl's living room was crowded with kids holding various cups of the stuff as they shouted out their own wishes, drunkenly clashing jars together. It was some kind of beautiful, and she found herself relaxing into the white noise of music enveloping the shouts of her classmates. Betty grabbed two jars of the stuff, with full intention to get as wasted as possible, and make her usual wish, and wandered around, feeling more lost than ever. Kevin had left her in favour for Fangs Fogarty, who slung a drunken arm over the boy, pulling him into one of the downstairs bathrooms. Kids from her classes shouted around her. "I wish I was young again!" Toni Topaz, Cheryl Blossom's girlfriend giggled, throwing her jar in the air.

"I wish I had balls of steel!" Moose Mason boomed, surrounded by his Bulldog friends.

"I wish I was powerful and popular!" Ethel Mugs, her voice being drowned out, ironically, squeaked from within the crowd of bustling, hyperactive kids.

More and more wishes were made, and the party turned into a competition on who could make the craziest wish. Betty didn't join in, instead finding a quiet space in the living room where she spotted a familiar mop of red flecked brunette hair. Archie had dyed it brown after Jughead had died. Nobody really knew why. Maybe it was the trauma taking hold. But he hadn't exactly maintained the new colour, so his natural roots were springing through, and she couldn't help finding the tint beautiful, as he sat under the glow of a lamp beside him. Betty only spoke to Archie via text, since neither of them wanted to leave their bedroom. So when she saw him sitting on one of the expensive reclining chairs on his own, ignoring the party around him, Betty's heart did a flipping over thing. She thought about turning around and leaving Archie on his own, after all, he'd rejected her company since they'd lost Jughead, but she had a second jar of Moonshine still clutched in her clammy hands, practically begging to be drank, a wish uttered through burning lips. And in that moment, nobody needed Moonshine more than Archie Andrews.

Betty took a stumbled step forwards, but it was only when she did, did she realize Archie was in fact not alone. She hadn't noticed the familiar raven haired girl sitting on the floor cross legged in front of him, nursing a red cup in her lap. Veronica Lodge. If Betty resembled an Egyptian princess with her vanilla skin and sun-kissed curls, then Veronica was more of a queen. With shining olive skin that glistened under the din and liquid obsidian hair pulled into a silky ponytail, the girl was the definition of perfection. She wore a simple black dress, a string of pearls strung across her throat. But she still managed to turn every head, whether it was male or female. Except Veronica only had eyes for one boy. And she was sitting with him, brown eyes soft and warm with sympathy. Even after a year, Archie was still hurting, like her. It was scrawled across his tired eyes, his pursed lips too polite to say he'd rather be anywhere else than here.

Betty felt her chest clench. She didn't know Veronica that well. She'd always been friendly with Archie, but had never made it to being a fourth Musketeer when they were kids. Tightening her grip on the Moonshine, she made her way over on shaky legs.

Archie's expression lit up when she made her appearance, and Veronica offered her a polite smile. "Betty!" the girl jumped up to wrap her arms around her, and Betty allowed herself to choke on the rich smell of roses engulfing the raven head.

"Hey Arch." she nodded at the boy, before offering him a jar of Moonshine. When he took it, raising his eyebrows, her lip twitched into a smile. "Make a wish and take a drink."

The redhead stood up, still holding the jar. Veronica watched the two of them as they unscrewed their jars in unison. "What's that?" the raven haired girl cocked her head, curious. "Is that stuff safe to drink?" the girl was right to be sceptical, it was a bubbling blue liquid in a jar that gave off a freaky mist when the lid was removed.

Betty nodded. "Ready?" she murmured, meeting Archie's soft mocha eyes. She felt eight years old again, pledging their friendship with sparkling glasses of lemonade with Jughead. Betty shook away the memory, her eyes stinging. No, she wouldn't cry.

Archie was already speaking, and his wish made her heart ache. It was what she'd wished for so long, and what was rushing out of her lips in a sort of panic, as if she was on a time limit. "I wish Jughead would come back." she said it loud and clear, pushing it in the air, letting it mix with Archie's wish. Betty didn't waste time taking a swig, and swallowed a mouthful, revelling in the burn in her throat. Archie made a choking noise, spluttering. But he was smiling, and happiness had never looked so good on him.

"Are you two still moping over Jones?" Reggie Mantle appeared, clutching his own jar of Moonshine. He was scowling at Archie. "How many times, Andrews? I'm not saying he, y'know deserved to die like...like that...but when are you going to get over it?"

If the boy hadn't have been staggering around, clearly off his head, Archie probably would have attacked him in blind rage. But he shook his head, ignoring the boy.

"You're drunk, Reg," he muttered, to which the boy rolled his eyes. "Alright, I've got a wish!" he slurred, lifting the jar in a toast. "I wish Archie would shut the fuck up..." he trailed off, looking like he was going to vomit. "about Jughead." he added, before taking a long swig of Moonshine, and staggering off. Probably to throw up.

”Rude.” Veronica commented, and Betty nodded. What a waste of a wish, she thought. 

Roughly an hour had passed, before Betty had finished off nearly half a jar, and she had ended up sitting with Archie and Veronica, with the redhead happily reminiscing the happy memories. That was before Betty's head began to spin. Archie was loudly describing the time when Jughead had fallen out of his tree-house to Veronica, who was giggling, sprawled over his lap, when Betty jumped up- and whoa. The effects of Moonshine hit her like a brick to the face. "I'm gon' go get some air." she announced, slurring to the two of them, who murmured in acknowledgement, before Archie dived back into the story.

Betty found the kitchen easily and poured herself a glass of water, before splashing herself in the face. She took a moment to look around, swallowing vomit burning the back of her throat. Her vision was feathered slightly, and the room seemed to turn into an erratic carousel when she moved. She was making her way back to the living room, when a knock at the door startled her. Cheryl was nowhere to be seen, so Betty took it upon herself to answer it. Stumbling over to the door, she grabbed the handle and yanked it open, momentarily basking in the cool air that bathed her flushed cheeks.

For a moment, Betty wondered if someone had spiked her drink. She blinked rapidly, but the figure standing in the doorway didn't bleed out of existence. If anything, it got more prominent, the pale light of the moon washing his face in an unearthly glow. She would recognise unruly dark curls, shining green eyes and that amused smirk anywhere. But the thing was, those things had been taken from her a year ago. Those things belonged to her dead boyfriend, who was now standing in front of her in the clothes he'd died in. She vaguely remembered the report; a plaid shirt found partially burned in a dumpster, and skinny jeans dumped in the river. The beanie he never took off had never been found. But there it was, nestled on his curls. That's what he was wearing, along with his jacket and camera hanging over his neck. Betty sucked in a breath, allowing herself to break, tears sliding freely down her cheeks. But it felt good to cry, letting everything out.

It was hard not to imagine grey, lifeless skin and blood spattered across his forehead in crimson smears, decorative, almost like a child had covered him in face paint. A head wound, the report had said. Blunt force trauma. But all Betty was seeing now was glistening olive skin, pink cheeks and eyes teeming with life, a smile that she'd missed so much. He was here, she thought, wanting to burst from pure happiness. He was really here, and he was alive, standing right in front of her, the ghost she'd wished for.

"Jug?" saying his name sounded - wrong. Betty hadn't said it in so long, except from when she wished for him to come back. She whimpered it, then again, moving closer to him as if in a dream, her hands reaching out to cradle his face. He couldn't be real, she thought. It must have been a side effect from the Moonshine. But whatever this was she'd take advantage of the time she had with him. Even if it was a second before reality settled in and he faded away. Betty felt like she was floating as her arms twined around his waist, pulling him to her, and she was burying her head in his chest, his scent- old library brooks and fry grease stinging her nose and throat. She reached up to grab his beanie, entangling her fingers in the wool, pulling at it to make sure it was as real as him.

It was.

"Hey." he greeted her with a soft kiss, and Betty felt all the breath leave her lungs. Jughead was real. She felt his warmth, his soft lips grazing her own. He pulled away from the kiss with a lopsided smile, which quickly morphed into a worried frown.

"Sorry, I know Cheryl Blossom's party's aren't usually my scene, but I figured you and Arch would be here, and-" he trailed off, his fingers quickly moving to tentatively wipe away her tears. "Betty, are you okay?"

Betty felt her chest constrict, every single piece of her shattering into a million pieces. "You don't..." she chose her words carefully. "You don't remember?"

Jughead folded his arms. "Remember what?"

Before she could reply, a familiar voice came from behind her. "Betty, who's at the door?"

Archie. She felt the boy brush past her, sending goosebumps rippling across her bare arms as he sidled into the doorway, peering out into the night, before his slightly unfocused eyes settled on his dead best friend. Archie let out a sharp inhale of breath.

"Jug?" the redhead's voice was a choked squeak, like nothing she'd ever heard come out of his mouth. He stood, paralysed, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

Jughead raised a brow at the redhead. "Yes, I get it, I'm at Cheryl Blossom's party." he rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Can you guys stop looking at me like that?"

Before Betty could conjure words, Jughead was side stepping past them and striding inside, marvelling at the Blossom mansion. "Nice place." he jutted his chin at ancient looking paintings hanging from the walls. "Kinda reminds me of the hotel from The Shining. It doesn't really surprise me that The Blossom's live in a King inspired abode."

"Jug." Archie finally said stiffly, before moving towards the boy. His eyes were glistening with tears, and Jughead warily stepped backwards, but let the boy hug him anyway. "I've... fuck, I've missed you so much." Archie choked, and Jughead awkwardly patted his back, before pulling away, his green eyes slitted. "You're scaring me, Arch."

Archie didn't listen. He swiped his eyes, sniffling. "Holy shit, I think-" the boy turned to Betty, brown eyes wild. "Betty, I think it worked. Your mom's Moonshine, It actually-"

Whatever the redhead was about to say was suddenly trapped in his throat, his voice collapsing into a garbled hiss before disappearing all together, leaving Archie mouthing soundless words, his eyes widening. Betty was too overwhelmed with seeing Jughead again, almost so that she barely noticed when the door suddenly slammed shut, and before their very eyes- disappeared into the wall, blending into the paintwork so effortlessly. A trick of the light, she thought, slightly hysterically. But no. She wasn't seeing things.

"The door..." Jughead started to say, before the screams started. They were slow at first, cries of alarm puncturing the silence the three of them had found themselves in, but then it was a domino affect- the screams got louder and louder, and all the while, Betty was replaying Cheryl Blossom's wish in the back of her mind. She grabbed Jughead’s hand, squeezing it protectively.

She wouldn’t lose him again.

Cheryl’s wish, however, echoed in her skull, demanding to be heard.

_"I wish this party would never end."_

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> leave kudos if you liked, and I'd love to know your thoughts :')


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